


The Periphery

by griffonsnotincluded



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dorian/Inquisitor friendship, Friendship, M/M, Minor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, T for language probably, Trespasser Spoilers, is the best ship, so it all evens out I guess, then happiness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffonsnotincluded/pseuds/griffonsnotincluded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was happening on the other side of the Eluvian once the Inquisitor ran through after Solas? Dorian having a minor major crisis, that's what. I guess that's what happens when your notoriously reckless best friend disappears behind a magic mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Periphery

He had been right on her heels.

Knowing that his chest and muscles must be aching but feeling none of it, Dorian had used his staff as leverage to drag himself to his feet as soon as he saw that Eleadora had continued to tear her way across the broken ground toward the Eluvian without sparing a second glance at the still smoking Saarebas. He knew that, despite the rift in her hand clawing her apart from the inside out, she would not stop, would not let herself stop, until she reached Solas.

Eleadora Lavellan’s singular focus when it came to their friends had always unnerved Dorian, and the amount of trust and dedication packed into such a tiny person was something he had worked hard over the years to match. It was why she had risked the Inquisition’s reputation to release Blackwall from an Orlesian prison (even though Dorian knew it had broken her heart to discover his lie), why she had dropped everything when Cole confided his fears of being used to hurt rather than help in her, why she, still covered in soot and bruises from facing a high dragon, had turned on her heel and strode right back out of Skyhold when Josephine mentioned that her family needed help. It was also probably why, he conceded, she almost tumbled down so many mountainsides. Unwavering focus was all well and good, but it was nothing without someone watching the periphery, which was a role that those lucky enough to form the Inquisitor’s inner circle were happy to fill. It was a role that had allowed Dorian to become the man he had resigned himself to never being: someone who could make a difference, who could let down his guard, allow himself to deserve things, to (Maker…) try be happy.

And he had been right there with her, at her back as always, when he heard it: the sharp gasp and muffled “Shit…”

Dorian spun on his heel, sharp eyes zeroing in on the ugly gash carved across the Iron Bull’s chest. “Bull--”

“I’m fine,” barked the Qunari, rolling his shoulders with a grimace, “The boss!”

Whipping back around, Dorian leaped forward as he saw Eleadora pass through the Eluvian only to fall to the ground when he hit the barrier that melted over the mirror’s surface. He immediately sprang back to his feet.

“No…” His voice was quiet as he slowly (so slowly, why was he moving so…) raised a hand to brush his fingers across the shimmering barrier.

Eleadora was on the other side. Eleadora was alone on the other side of this mirror with an insane zealot and Maker knew what else and he knew she would only see Solas, if he was even there. She would only be looking for Solas, not a fight. His _best friend_ was on the other side of this damned mirror while he was trapped over…

(“Well this is new,” she had said after Alexius sent them to the future, and Dorian had laughed because how could he not at the casual acceptance in the voice of this tiny elf standing in water that came halfway up her calves.

“Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll protect you,” he had offered anyway, and she had laughed at that.

“My hero.”)

“No.”

A spell, there had to be one, a variation on barrier dispel that would tear through the master level spellwork. He had to have read about one somewhere, maybe that book in the Inquisitor’s private library, yes it was worth a…

(“Tell me about Tevinter,” she had asked so many times and with such honest curiosity that he was willing to overlook the indignity of her legs stretched over his own [more often than not paying no mind to the book settled in his lap because Southerners were barbarians with no concept of personal space] because she should hate him, hate listening to his stories about the Evil Imperium, but her own lust for knowledge rivals his own and he cannot help the warmth that seeps through his entire being when she requests tale after tale about his homeland’s history, its customs, his plans for it.)

“No.”

The light from his staff slid over the barrier and disappeared in a startling cloud of smoke. Another then, perhaps one of the books they had plundered from the tomb in the Frostback Basin had contained...no not old enough, one from home, there had to be one, think Dorian, think.

(He had thought his father would drop dead on the spot from the amount of venom in Eleadora’s “I think it’s time we left.” This was not the first time had seen her Keeper training on display: the way she had subtly stepped between his father and himself, the way she held her chin and narrowed her eyes, all trace of her usual wide smile gone and every bit as intimidating as a magister. If he were being honest with himself it was not the first time she had directed it toward him, but it was the first time he had truly felt all those years of her being taught to protect family above all else envelop him in an almost overwhelming embrace of... _kaffas_ she was his friend.)

“NO.”

“Dorian--”

Dorian ignored the soft protestations of his remaining companions, and since when had Blackwall’s opinions interested him in the slightest anyway? The barrier found new ways to repel his efforts, sending his magic ricocheting backwards, absorbing it, melting it, burning it.

(“Is this an official concern or...?” he had asked with a wariness that he was still struggling to unlearn at her inquiry, because old habits die hard and if he was about to be berated for...whatever was happening between Bull and himself then he would not make the process of getting there easy.

She had rolled her eyes but countered it with a warm smile. “I’m asking as your friend. How did I not know about this?”

“Darling, not all of us feel the need to parade our conquests across the ramparts,” he had said in an airy voice that he hoped hid the intense flood of relief that hit him so quickly at her words that it almost made him dizzy.

The tips of her ears had turned pink, but she had smirked all the same. “That explains it then.”

“Do tell.”

“Why Cullen has seen Bull lurking around the mage sparring grounds these days.”

And he had not blushed. Not even when she had followed that little reveal up with a laugh and “I just want you to be happy, Dorian.”)

“FUCK,” he screamed, tossing his staff and a lifetime of composure aside and pounding the barrier with his bare fists. “Fuck!”

Flames erupted around his hands as he hit the barrier once again and raced over his body until he was consumed.

(“I thought you would like this” “I had Josephine put a rush on those books you wanted” “Dorian are you ok?” “I put in a special order with Dagna” “Give this to him, trust me he’ll love it” “Can I get your opinion on this?” “Dorian, what do you think?” “Skyhold won’t be the same without you” “You’re not staying?”)

The flames surrounding him were almost white when, for a horrible moment, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: with his eyes burning and lips curled in a snarl, he looked every bit the role of the wicked magister. With a strangled shout, he sent the fire shooting back down his arms until the entire barrier was covered in the inferno and panted, watching the flames lick away at the magic for a moment before the barrier extinguished them as well.

“Dorian.”

Dorian stilled at the large hand on his back, instinctively leaning into the touch before shrugging Bull off. “Get off me, we have to--”

“ _Kadan_.”

Bull’s voice was low, soothing, and final. Dorian’s jaw clenched, but he let his fists fall to his sides and instead began to pace back and forth in front of the mirror, never letting his eyes drop.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Noted.” Dorian’s voice was clipped, but he was annoyed to realize that a line of blood was trickling into his mustache from his nose.

“And you’re going to pull something,” said Blackwall, pulling off his helmet and wiping blood from his beard. “Or make it worse.”

Blackwall (or was it Rainier, Dorian couldn’t keep up at this point) gestured to Dorian’s left leg, which, as if by acknowledging the slight limp made it real, suddenly buckled. Dorian gritted his teeth and attempted to resume his pacing when he found his way blocked by Bull’s chest.

“You won’t be any good to her if I have to carry you through that thing. And you know I will.”

Dorian opened his mouth but closed it again at the silent request on Bull’s face. He felt a different kind of worry bubbling in his stomach at the sight of the rivets of blood streaming from Bull’s wound.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice still strained and sharp and he hated himself for it.

Bull shrugged. “Had worse.”

There was a beat of silence as Dorian shifted from foot to foot. “I’m...sorry.” He raised his fingers to the cut then shook his head. “I can’t...as you may recall my skill set, though impressive, does not include healing spells.”

Bull let out a long breath and shook his head. “Fuck that, would you just sit down?”

“No.”

“No?” echoed Bull, looking this close to shoving Dorian to the ground himself.

Dorian wiped another trickle of blood from his mustache and turned back to face the Eluvian, though he let his other hand brush against Bull’s (oh Maker he had missed this, the comfort the warmth the safety literally at his fingertips…).

“She’s over there.” Dorian tried and failed to keep the desperation out of his voice. “She would be killing herself if it were one of us, she deserves at least that from me--us.”

“Believe it or not,” said Blackwall, wandering over to Bull and Dorian, “I was with you both when the Inquisitor sent Corypheus back to hell with one hand. I don’t think one Qunari will be much of a problem, no offense Bull.”

The Iron Bull waved his hand that was not still lightly entwined with Dorian’s. “We also killed ten high dragons together, the boss is pretty spry.”

Dorian gritted his teeth against the stream of nasty comments that threatened to turn the already stressful situation fully toxic. _They are trying to help, they are trying to help_ , he thought to himself. But didn’t they understand? Didn’t they see how their journey through the Eluvians, the truths they had discovered about her people, Maker, the potential truth they had discovered about _Solas_ , had affected Eleadora? She would take that confusion and pain and channel it all towards finding their lost friend, and after years of others having her back, she would not think to watch her own.

“You think too loud, Dorian.” Blackwall began to clean his sword, though he never turned his back on the mirror.

“And you don’t think at all,” snapped Dorian, hearing the poison lacing his words though he didn’t seem to be able to stop it, and his leg was killing him and his nose was still bleeding and he had to go home to fucking Tevinter away from Bull and Eleadora and Skyhold and the only fucking friends he had ever had to be a fucking magister because his father was dead and he never had the chance to...

Blackwall exchanged a glance with Bull before sighing. “You _are_ aware that we’re just as worried as you are?”

Dorian felt his lip curl, felt the urge to snap his fingers and give Blackwall the unpleasant shave he deserved, but even as he let his hand fall from Bull’s so he could take an unsteady step toward Blackwall, a chorus of muffled static floating from the front of his robes froze him to the spot.

The crystal. The one he had given her after she finished fussing over him and after he had watched her smile drop when he told her that he would not be staying. The lifeline that he had thrown out, knowing that she would catch it and keep it close, how could he have forgotten?

He yanked it out of his robes and held it to his ear. Something was disrupting the magic that should have allowed him to hear Eleadora’s words down to the breaths between them, and he could only catch the odd phrase or so.

“You’re…” Her voice was tinny and far, as if spoken from across a great distance.

“Eleadora?”

“...Fen’harel...you don’t...”

“Can you hear me?”

A crackled yell of pain made the crystal vibrate, and Bull’s hand went to the shaft of his warhammer, his fingers white with barely contained frustration. Dorian stopped breathing.

“Dora?”

His voice was far weaker than he would have liked, it needed to be stronger in order to counter whatever magic was at play. Every few seconds Dorian could catch the soft, low tones of whoever Eleadora was talking to, but he could never make out specifics.

“Who--?” started Blackwall, his voice hoarse, but Dorian held up a hand as the voices on the other end started growing clearer.

“Please…don’t have to...”

Dorian held the crystal up to Bull’s lips, and the Qunari began to speak in a loud, slow voice. “Boss, can you hear--?”

“Please…!”

He had never heard her beg before. Blackwall grabbed his helmet from the ground and shoved it on his head, and Dorian made a wild grab for his staff even as the barrier surrounding the mirror began to flicker.

“SOLAS.”

Dorian felt as though he had been punched in the chest. Eleadora’s scream was raw, wild, and so brimming with agony that he almost missed the exact moment that the barrier vanished. All thoughts of his pained leg long forgotten, Dorian exploded forward, only dimly aware of Bull and Blackwall close behind.

Shrugging off the uneasiness of passing through the Eluvian’s cool, almost-but-not-quite liquid surface, Dorian allowed himself a millisecond to adjust to the new scenery before his eyes swept the area for any sign of black hair and white leather. He heard Bull and Blackwall swear at the army of frozen Qunari that met them on the other side of the Eluvian, but Dorian barely registered the horrific collection, instead weaving and darting around the statues with a practiced grace that the warriors lacked until he reached a landing of cracked stone at the foot of an enormous Eluvian.

“No…” It wasn’t a statement this time; it was a plea.

Eleadora, one arm still half-outstretched as if reaching for something, lay in a small unmoving heap near the Eluvian.

Dorian’s leg threatened to finally give out as he stumbled to her side, and at last he let himself sink to the ground next to her. Her cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes closed, but her chest still rose and fell in hesitant bursts.

“Oh shit,” murmured Bull a moment later, crouching down next to Dorian and gesturing to her outstretched hand.

A black, veiny mass was crawling its way up Eleadora’s left arm from her palm. From the spot where the rift used to be.

“This is unstable magic,” said Dorian, his voice ragged as he tried to pull himself together. “The absence left by the rift is potentially as dangerous to her as the rift itself. If it continues to spread it could--”

“Hold out her arm.” Blackwall’s voice was as clear as Dorian’s was muddled, and he drew his sword. “Can you keep her asleep?”

It was as if he were removed from his body. Everything seemed both hyper-real and too slow to actually be happening, and not for the first time during this little excursion, Dorian wondered if it all might be a dream. He was aware of Bull pulling him away from Eleadora and wrapping an arm across his chest, both comfort and restraint (but for who, Dorian or himself, he wondered), of feeling the deep but unsteady rise and fall of Bull’s chest against his back, of the look of fierce concentration that tightened Blackwall’s eyes and mouth, of casting some tricky, precise bit of magic that would sharpen Blackwall’s blade and cauterize the wound it would leave in its wake, but he felt completely removed from all it.

Blackwall raised his sword.

(“Please don’t make a habit of that,” said Dorian, rolling his eyes and drumming his fingers on the table.

“What?” asked Sera, her sharp grin revealing her tongue sticking out from between her teeth.

“The things Sera probably shouldn’t make a habit of could fill a book,” said Varric, pen in hand and not looking up from his notebook, “I should know, I’m thinking it has spin off potential.”

“It would take minimal effort to say ‘Eleadora and Dorian,’” Dorian continued, watching as Sera frowned at Varric. “There’s no need for--”

“‘Eleadorian’ saves way more time than ‘El-uh-dor-a and Dor-ee-an’,” rebuked Sera, perking up as she saw Eleadora weaving her way through the crowd carrying more drinks. “You two’re never more’n five steps from each other. That's time management.”

Dorian let out a long breath as Eleadora slid a bottle of wine his way. “It makes us sound as if we are a double act in a third rate theater troupe.”

Eleadora cocked her head at him as she settled in the chair to his right before Varric raised the pint she had deposited into his hand toward Sera. “Eleadorian.”

“Oh!” She waved at someone, and Dorian glanced over to see Cullen entering the tavern, his hair slightly tousled by the snow and wind, before Eleadora turned her attention back to Sera. “Yes, no, if you’re going to go with a terrible nickname you might as well get it right.”

“I’m not writing an adventure serial called ‘Shock and Awe’,” said Varric, giving up on his book and turning his full attention to his drink.

“Why not?” asked Eleadora, tilting her chin up with a slight smile to accept Cullen’s kiss as the pink-eared Commander took his place at her side to a small chorus of wolf whistles.

“She’s shock and I’m awe,” said Dorian in a faux-irritated voice, answering Cullen’s unspoken question as he refilled his wine glass. “It’s not catching on as she hoped.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow as Eleadora pressed a drink into his hand. “And what, pray tell, is--?”

Eleadora splayed her hands on the table. “Imagine, if you will, a battlefield. Dawn.”

“Oh no,” murmured Cullen.

“Imagine,” she said, “You’re deep in the Emerald Graves, no wait, the Hinterlands--”

“It’s a move Sparkler and her like to whip out when they feel like showing off,” said Varric, sparing Cullen the scene she had pitched to him as the opening for a new series.

Dorian waved a hand at this description. “Showing off” indeed [even if they were, it was beside the point]. “She casts a static cage that locks them into place--”

“And he blows them up,” finished Eleadora, shooting Dorian a glittering smile before wiggling her fingers at Cullen, who hid his snort in his tankard. “Shock and awe. Or I guess it should be ‘shock and ahhhh’ but that doesn’t have the same ring.”

“I know somewhere else you could put those skills to good use.”

Not bothering to hide his grimace as the Iron Bull slid onto the bench across from him, Dorian glared as Bull smirked at him. “Don’t.”

“Dorian, I’m hurt,” said Bull, raising an eyebrow in a way that left Dorian’s neck hot. “How could you possibly think I’d make an innuendo out of your ability to follow up writhing, electrifying paralysis with an intense explosion?”

Cullen spat out his drink, and Eleadora laughed as Dorian felt heat rush from his neck to...well...everywhere. He took a delicate sip of his wine and fixed Bull with a look of even disinterest.

“You are terrible. Just truly the worst person I have ever known.”

“Now see, that’s what the people want though,” said Varric in a slightly mournful voice as Bull grinned at Dorian. “You give them epic, sprawling adventure, and all they remember is--”

“Chapters ten, fifteen, seventeen, and twenty through twenty two of Swords and Shields,” the entire table chanted back at him, and Varric laughed.

“Anyway, back to me,” said Dorian, turning back to Sera. “I’d thank you if you left the alias duties to our intrepid storyteller.”

Eleadora rubbed Cullen’s back as he continued to wheeze [another innocent victim of the Bull’s terrible sense of humor, thought Dorian] and shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I mean, it’s awful but it could be worse. ‘Pavellan’ or something.”

“Vishante kaffas,” sighed Dorian as the entire table took up the chant.

“Pavell-an. Pavell-an. Pavell-an.”

Smiling an apology that she most certainly did not mean, Eleadora slapped her left hand on his right before giving it a squeeze. “You know you love me.”

“Only sometimes,” he sniffed, but he felt his lips tug upward.)

Blackwall’s sword fell with a sickening thud.

***

The return to the Winter Palace had been a blur. The few moments Dorian could remember, Eleadora draped in Blackwall’s arms, Bull’s arm around his waist to support him as he simultaneously wove the sleep spell that kept Eleadora mercifully unconscious and cast a barrier around the group, the way Eleadora’s staff dug into his back because its sling was slightly too small for him (Bull had told him to leave it, but it was her favorite and she would kill him if he left it behind), were so clouded by exhaustion and fear that he could barely untangle them from what came after.

“Someone...get...Cullen,” he gasped at the small group of Inquisition soldiers that stared at the blood-covered, barely standing party that had fallen back through the Eluvian. “Commander Rutherford. Now!”

He hadn’t meant to shout, but it seemed to do the trick. The soldiers jolted back to life, some demanding answers, some racing away to find the proper parties, but all looking stricken at the sight of their Inquisitor’s limp, one-armed body.

Dorian straightened and stumbled over to stand in front of Blackwall as one guard tried to take Eleadora from him. “Directions to the infirmary, if you please.”

The guard blanched at the severe look in Dorian’s eye, though Dorian recognized that the seven foot tall Qunari looming over him couldn’t have hurt, and stepped away, pointing out the door.

“Thank you,” said Dorian, flashing him what he imagined was a winning smile but what was probably a grimace.

Getting Eleadora to a healer turned out to be an exercise in patience, and Dorian had the fleeting thought that navigating back through the Eluvians had been a preferable experience. Or at least a quieter one.

“Is that blood?”  
“Is that--?”  
“The Inquisitor! Maker--”  
“Did you see?”  
“With the Qunari and the Tevinter--”

“Yes, just returning from a rousing bit of blood magic, courtesy of your local Tevinter ambassador,” Dorian called after a particularly tactless group of onlookers. “Nothing to worry about!”

That earned him a chuckle from Bull, who was acting as a shield between Blackwall and Eleadora and what felt like half of Orlais. “Careful. You really wanna add ‘fight through Templars’ to your morning routine?”

“Nonsense, I haven’t the time. That’s what I have you for,” said Dorian, grateful for the distraction from the bone-crushing exhaustion that made his vision swim at the edges.

“Oh thanks.”

“I’ll cast a barrier, I’m not completely heartless.” Dorian’s chest tightened at the small gasp that accompanied Bull’s snort and the way his face twitched in pain. Their eyes met, and Dorian knew that Bull knew that he had noticed the slip. “Bull--”

“Here!” said Bull, breezing past Dorian’s concern and practically knocking the door to the healer off its hinges.

Dorian leaned against the doorframe, taking weight off his injured leg and watching as a group of healers swarmed Blackwall and removed Eleadora from his arms.

“What happened?”  
“Was there magic involved?”  
“Poison?”

Their questions swirled around Dorian, who struggled to distinguish the individual inquiries from the loud chatter outside.

“How long has she been like this?” one of them demanded, looking directly at him.

“I don’t…” Dorian closed his eyes for a moment before clearing his throat. “A few hours, perhaps? It’s been quite the day, you see.”

“Three hours,” recited Bull in the collected voice of one used to detail work. “There was irreparable magical damage done to her forearm, it had to be removed then cauterized. Dorian has her under a sleeping spell.”

The healer tutted and gestured for the others to move Eleadora into a separate room before sweeping the three companions up and down. “We’ll see what we can do. You three all clearly require medical attention as well, if you’ll follow me…”

“I’m going with the Inquisitor,” said Dorian, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes, an intimidating effect ruined by a wave of tremors that shook his hands.

“Ambassador--”

“Trust me, you’re not gonna be able to argue with him,” said Bull, clapping the healer on the shoulder and looking toward the room where they had carried Eleadora. “Alright, lead the way.”

Dorian thought his head would burst, he actually saw red.

“Absolutely not,” he exploded, looking at Bull with outrage. “You are going to have that Maker damned _chasm_ in your chest examined. And your head, and your arm, I am not _blind_.”

Bull opened his mouth, but Dorian pointed a finger in his face. “If you don’t go with them I will never speak to you again. I am not joking, this is not a threat: it is a certainty.”

“Dorian, come on--”

“Amatus.” Bull’s mouth snapped closed at Dorian’s quiet but very public admission. “Please.”

Bull dipped his head so he could brush his forehead against Dorian’s. Dorian closed his eyes and shrank his world to this moment, calm numbing the pain and weariness.

“If you don’t follow me soon, I’ll barge in there and throw you over my shoulder,” whispered Bull, his breath and soft laugh tickling Dorian’s face.

“Is that a promise?”

Shaking his head with a slight smile, Bull drew back and looked to the healer. “Stitch me up, doc.”

Letting out a shaking breath of relief as Bull allowed a healer to lead him into a separate room, Dorian pushed himself off the doorframe and, gritting his teeth, followed the group of healers down the hall.

He would not leave her alone.

***

Dorian didn’t know how long he had been sitting in the dim, silent chamber where they had placed Eleadora, whose left side was now slathered in poultices and wrapped in bandages, before Cullen burst through the door.

The Commander’s hair was a mess and looked as if Cullen had been attempting to tear it out, and when he spoke it was in the voice of a much younger man. “Ellie, where’s…?”

(“‘Ellie’?” Dorian had crowed, eyes wide with laughter as Eleadora turned an impressive shade of pink.

“I don’t know why you’re--”

Dorian had raised a dramatic hand to his eyes. “Oh, Ellie. I simply cannot live without you. All the armies in the world cannot satisfy me the way--”

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re hilarious.”

“That man leads the Inquisition’s forces, probably wears that armor to bed, has smiled a total of once in his life, and he calls you ‘Ellie’?”

“We do...see each other outside of work.” she had said, rolling her eyes and attempting to bury her deepening blush in her book. “Did you think he called me ‘Inquisitor’ all the time?”

Dorian had let a slow grin tug at his lips. “I don’t know, I can think of a few scenarios where--”

Which is when Cullen had entered the library, deep in conversation with Leliana, and Eleadora had clamped her hand over Dorian’s mouth.)

Dorian blinked hard and raised his head, realizing how terrible he must look with smudged eyes and blood still on his face. He attempted to offer Cullen a smile, something to comfort the man, but found that he couldn’t muster the strength.

“Can’t take her anywhere.”

He nodded toward the bed in the center of the room, and Cullen’s face immediately shuttered. Taking hesitant steps into the room, Cullen walked to Eleadora’s side before slowly, _painfully_ , lowering himself to the floor. Dorian could not fathom how he was remaining so composed.

“We don’t know what happened,” he offered when Cullen did not ask, “There was a barrier. We think Solas...anyway, the healer said she should wake up at any...”

He broke off when it became clear that Cullen was elsewhere, staring at Eleadora as if he were carved from stone, her one remaining hand clutched in both of his. The two of them sat in silence, Dorian watching Cullen observe the steady rise and fall of Eleadora’s chest.

“I took...I mean, I know she would have wanted…” Dorian fumbled in his pouch for the silver ring he had removed from her severed hand. “Here.”

He creaked to his feet and held it out to Cullen, who considered him with a blank expression before accepting it, one of the fingers curling over the ring sporting a matching band. Dorian fell back into his chair, running a hand over his face and sighing when it came away dirty. Part of him knew he should leave, give Cullen space to process the situation, but the other, larger part of him did not particularly care. He took to counting Cullen’s breaths and had reached fifty before the other man spoke.

“I knew this would…” The hoarse defeat in the Commander’s voice startled Dorian. “This always...”

He let out a horrible chuckle, and Dorian’s blood ran cold. “Commander--”

Cullen raised his eyes to Dorian’s, and Dorian knew that he was getting a glimpse of Cullen as Varric must have known him: broken and lost and drowning.

“Did she ever tell you?” Dorian shook his head, and Cullen closed his eyes. “No, of course not.”

Dorian knew vague details concerning the Commander’s past, colored in here and there by Varric (and Hawke, during her brief visit to Skyhold), but they had always been delightfully embarrassing tales and Dorian had never been interested in pulling on the threads that suggested otherwise.

(“If only I was people like you, Cullen,” Hawke had called, a sharp smile lighting up her eyes as she had waved over her head at the Commander during Varric’s tour of Skyhold. “Then maybe I could have all these cool toys too.”

Cullen had shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing before he excused himself.)

He knew better than most the pain one’s past could hold.

“I must be cursed.” Cullen blinked at the ceiling, another horrible chuckle echoing in the small chamber. “Everywhere I go, everything I touch...I should have known better.”

Dorian frowned. “That, my friend, is absolute bullshit.”

Cullen looked as if Dorian had struck him. “What--?”

“None of this...vishante kaffas, Cullen, this wasn’t your fault!” Dorian’s heart was pounding as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet once more. “You know damn well that if Eleadora heard you talking like this she would have a thing or two to say. Unfortunately for you, she happens to be indisposed at the moment so you’re stuck with me. Kirkwall, whatever happened, whoever you were before the Inquisition, it doesn’t matter except that it brought you here, now. You are the Commander of one of the greatest forces in the history of Thedas, you helped save the world. Eleadora does not trust fools and she certainly does not marry them, so don’t you _dare_ dishonor her by suggesting that you are not worth her time. Not while I’m here.”

Dorian’s breath was ragged, his gaze fierce, and he felt something melt in his chest, seeping deep into his bones and making his legs weak in a way unrelated to his injuries. It wasn’t your fault.

Stunned, Cullen stared at Dorian for a moment before sagging forward, resting his chin on his hands that still held Eleadora’s and casting Dorian a sideways look. “Thank you.”

“For what?” sniffed Dorian, because if Cullen needed a show then he was willing to perform. “I am simply listing facts. Corypheus and all of the demon armies in the Fade could not stop Eleadora from doing exactly what she wanted. You should know this better than any of us. The only person who could have prevented what happened today is...her.”

It wasn’t your fault.

“I didn’t mean for me.” Cullen’s scar twitched with his small smile. “You brought her back.”

“Oh, that.” Dorian waved a hand. “All in a day’s work. I represent all of Tevinter now, hadn’t you heard? Must keep up positive relations with the south.”

Dorian was relieved to hear that Cullen’s laugh was back to normal and slid back into his chair.

“You should see a healer,” said Cullen, nodding at Dorian’s leg. “She’ll be furious.”

“I expect she will, however, I am willing to risk her wrath. If you don’t mind, of course,” he added, tilting his head at Cullen, who nodded then turned his attention back to Eleadora.

Dorian settled back and exhaled. That little pep talk had drained what little remained of his energy, and he fought to keep his eyes open. The things he did for this girl, honestly.

“--need to see the Inquisitor!”

Angry voices were swarming outside the door, pulling Cullen and Dorian’s focus from Eleadora.

“Maker’s breath,” growled Cullen, running a hand down his face, “What now?”

The door burst open, and a uniformed messenger entered the room followed by a furious healer.

“--completely inappropriate, I must insist--”

“It’s urgent!”

Cullen rose to his feet with deliberate slowness, and a small thrill went down Dorian’s spine as the Commander stared down the intruders from under his brow. “You have five seconds.”

“Pardon me, Commander, he just barged in--”

“The council is reconvening!” the messenger practically shouted, and the room went silent once more.

Dorian let out a wild laugh and could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He knew all eyes were on him, but he could not stop. “Of course it is! Why not!”

Cullen turned back to the messenger. “No. Tell them that the Inquisition will not be forced to--”

“They will start with or without the Inquisition present,” gasped the messenger, out of breath and clearly terrified. “But they have stated that they will take the Inquisitor’s absence as a personal offense to--”

“This is ridiculous,” shouted Cullen before he lowered his voice once more. “The Inquisitor is in no condition to--”

“I’ll go.”

Dorian abruptly stopped laughing and stared as Eleadora, deathly pale and shaking, pushed herself up with one arm until she was eye to eye with the messenger.

Cullen looked dazed, all sense of duty temporarily forgotten. “Ellie--”

“Tell the council that I will be there momentarily and that I apologize for the delay.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes flicking to her severed arm before focusing back on the messenger and offering a small smile. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

The messenger nodded and scurried away as Eleadora fell back onto the bed with a groan.

“Do you need any--?” began the healer, but Cullen had already slammed the door.

The Commander was at her side in an instant, scooping her against his chest and holding her close. Dorian looked away, trying to ignore the soft urgency in Cullen’s voice and the tired reassurances in hers. He shouldn’t be here, not for this.

“Dorian.”

He looked over, relief making his head spin, and saw that she was attempting to untangle herself from Cullen and make her way over to him. Startled, Dorian met her halfway, catching her when her legs refused to hold her weight.

“Damn...potion,” she panted, wrapping one arm around his neck and smiling wearily up at him.

Dorian knew she was waiting for a joke, a witty response, their usual rapport, but he couldn’t do it. Instead, he wrapped both arms around her and swept her in a hug so tight that she let out a small noise. She folded into him, pressing her face into his chest as he pressed his into her hair, and he felt the tears that he had been holding in since returning through the Eluvian finally slip free.

“Your husband is going to get jealous,” he murmured, not loosening his grip on her.

“Let him,” she said into the front of his robes. She wiggled weakly until she could stare up at him and wiped a thumb under his eye. “You look terrible.”

He hiccuped a laugh. “Some of us haven’t had the luxury of magically induced beauty sleep.”

She suddenly frowned, her eyebrows scrunching together. “Bull. Blackwall. Are they alright, is everyone--?”

Dorian somewhat released his hold on her. “Everyone will be fine. You’re the only one who gave us any trouble. As per usual.”

Eleadora gave him a sad smile before turning to Cullen. “I’m going to need someone to pin the sleeve of my suit.”

“Please, they’ve asked enough of you as it--” Cullen began.

“But first would you please escort Ambassador Pavus to a healer before I break his other leg.”

There was another loud knock at the door accompanied by a familiar grunt, and Dorian winced. “Ah, cancel that order, Inquisitor. I believe my chariot has arrived.”

***

Dorian sat on a balcony overlooking the garden, bandaged leg propped up on an ottoman and slathered in something that smelled vaguely minty. The healer had forbidden him from performing any magic for at least a day.

“You’re lucky that you stayed conscious,” the healer had grumbled, moving his hands up and down Dorian’s body and assessing for any internal damage that Dorian’s prolonged spellcasting may have caused.

“Yes, well I am quite talented, you see,” he had said, but his mind was elsewhere.

Eleadora had not explained what happened through the Eluvian, promising to do so once she was finished with the council, not that she would have had time what with Bull entering the room, shooting off a breezy “How’s it goin’ boss?”, and throwing a protesting Dorian over his shoulder.

“I told you,” he had said in a singsong voice, humming as Dorian scrabbled at the bandages that encircled Bull’s entire torso in an attempt to get a grip.

Dorian had sighed in resigned defeat, but just before Cullen closed the door behind them, he had seen Eleadora crumple into herself, her hand covering her face as she sobbed.

What could possibly have happened? Now that Eleadora was safely awake and out of another dimension and he was comfortably propped up by several pillows, Dorian felt free to obsess over the question. Something to do with Solas, obviously. The pain in her voice over the crystal could only mean that he was in trouble (or dead, Dorian amended with a shudder).

“Here.”

Dorian returned to the present, raising his face toward the sun before holding out his hand for the glass Bull was holding. “Don’t listen to what other people say: you are truly a gift from the Maker himself.”

Bull laughed and settled on the couch next to Dorian. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

The two sat holding their drinks in amiable silence, the sound of gossip and laughter floating up from the garden below.

“She’s going to disband the Inquisition,” said Dorian, breaking the silence but keeping his eyes firmly ahead, studying the manicured hedges below. “I have to say, this monstrosity ranks in my top five least favorite gardens of all time.”

He felt Bull shift to look at him. “Did she say anything?”

Dorian shook his head. “I can just tell.”

Bull was quiet for another moment before sighing. “I figured as much. Whatever happened over there has her shaken. Add that to the spies, the infiltrations, this bullshit council...” He trailed off and shrugged. “It was never going to last forever anyway. Not as it was.”

“Unrestricted power operating with no oversight is all well and good when there’s a monster threatening to tear the world in two, but as soon as you rid the world of said monster…” Dorian breathed a laugh and let his head fall to rest on Bull’s arm, which was slung over the back of the couch. “Suddenly people are unhappy.”

“Are you alright?”

Bull’s question caught him off guard, and Dorian opened one eye to cast him a sideways look. “Never better.”

Bull reached out, gently turning Dorian’s face until they were eye to eye. “I’m serious. I’ve never seen you like that before, and, you know...”

“The Iron Bull, were you worried about me?” asked Dorian, but his smirk fell away when Bull didn’t return it.

“I’m always worried about you.”

“I know.” Dorian mentally shook himself. “Just...working through some issues. I think you’re on to something with this whole ‘let it all out’ thing.” Bull still didn’t laugh, and Dorian groaned. “Alright, I was afraid. Happy?”

“Why would that make me happy?” The soft, genuine concern lacing Bull’s voice made Dorian’s heart heavy. “I know you, Dorian. I know you were afraid. I just wanted to know why.”

Dorian was quiet for a moment before he looked back out to the garden. “At first I thought it was just for Eleadora’s sake. Don’t get me wrong, that was a large part of it. But then…” He still didn’t know how to do this, how to just _say_ what he was feeling. “It was something she said when we started after the Viddasala, that this was likely our last adventure.” Dorian met Bull’s eye again. “What I owe the Inquisition cannot be repaid. And, as you’ll recall, I have recently come into an unwanted inheritance. So to be literally, if but temporarily, severed from the Inquisitor...I suddenly found myself at an existential crossroads. I am not certain that I know who I am without the Inquisition, and in that moment I was desperate to never have to find out.”

“And now?” It was amazing how still Bull could be for one so large.

“You know I can’t stay.”

“Yeah.”

“And you know not to ask me to.” Dorian’s smile wavered. “Because you know I will. If you asked.”

“I know.”

Dorian fiddled with the chain around his neck. “The amount of work Eleadora put into building the Inquisition, into saving the world, and now she is going to step away, disband it without a fight? Because she knows that it’s what’s best?” He laughed. “That’s quite the bar she’s set. I may not be able to fix Tevinter, maybe nobody can. But I have to try.”

On an impulse, Dorian reached out and touched Bull’s cheek. “You know that I love you?”

Being able to look at Bull and say those words. That was something else he owed her.

Bull placed his hand over Dorian’s and closed his eye with a soft laugh. “Back at you, Kadan.”

Clearing his throat, Bull pulled away from Dorian and reached into a deep pouch on his belt. “I, uh, have something for you. If you want it.”

“I don’t want to see another animal skull, Bull, I thought I made that clear last time,” warned Dorian, watching Bull rummage with suspicion. “I don’t care if they do look ‘badass’ I have no interest...in…”

He stared as Bull held out a piece of slightly curved bone on a chain. It was black, smooth, and unmistakably dragon.

“It...Qunari don’t usually have sex for love. Though I suppose I’m not exactly a Qunari anymore, am I?” Dorian didn’t think he had ever seen Bull nervous before. “But there is an old tradition. You find a dragon’s tooth, break it in half, and you each wear a piece.” He smiled crookedly. “That way, no matter how far apart life takes you, you’re always together. It’s actually kinda...perfect. For us. I mean, you said I can’t come with you, and I get that. But I’d feel a hell of lot better if you were taking on the Imperium and had a piece of me with you. So you knew there was someone who had your back.”

Dorian continued to stare at him, mouth closed and eyes wide as if he were frozen, and he hastened to pull back the tooth. “Unless that’s not what you want.”

Bull almost had it back in his pouch when Dorian’s hand snatched his. “Are you serious? Of course I want it.” Dorian pried the tooth from Bull’s grasp and studied it. “Where did you even get this? No, no, _when_ did you get this?”

He saw noticeable relief sweep across Bull’s features and felt a pang of guilt at his reaction that was quickly overwhelmed by the fact that his heart seemed to be trying to escape through his mouth.

“Life doesn’t stop when you leave the room, Dorian,” said Bull, face split in unabashed delight as Dorian slid the chain around his neck so that the tooth settled next to Eleadora’s crystal.

“Doesn’t it though?” asked Dorian in a dry voice, raising an eyebrow. “Honestly, I’m not sure how any of you survive without me. The boredom must be crush--”

Bull had always had quite the way with words. And his hands. And his tongue.

They had today, thought Dorian. And that could be enough.


End file.
